


Thank You, Edward Florsheim

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Attempted Blackmail, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sex Tape, Simultaneous Penetration, Spitroasting, a broken ankle, a chase, handjobs, love (or at least lust) confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: Has attempted blackmail ever backfired quite so spectacularly?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am in awe of merindab (janto321) who made this better, brighter and clearer. In some cases there was a bit of "back seat porning" which I didn't mind at all. I am delighted to have her as a fellow writer, beta and friend.
> 
> This first chapter is shorter than the rest but it just seemed like the right stopping point. The entire fic is written and I should be posting a chapter ever couple days until it is all posted. Enjoy!

Sherlock slid the DVD into the computer and clicked play. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he inhaled sharply as lurid images filled the screen. 

John Watson, and another man naked as the day they were born. John had the man bent over a table, his arse to the camera and his head entirely out of view. No distinguishing scars or tattoos. John of course had both and oh… John had shifted slightly, his engorged penis now fully in view. Well, that certainly explained a lot about John’s stride. John added more lubricant and Sherlock could see that he had several fingers up the man’s arse. John’s hair was the same cut as he wore today, not the high and tight from his military days, so likely recent. From the distance it was taken, no sound would have been audible from the two men, but the video lacked sound altogether, which meant there wasn’t even background noise to help determine location. This wasn’t any kind of self-made porn. Blackmail material, obviously, even without the clumsy note that in the package detailing as much. 

The idiot who sent it mistakenly perceived that John was cheating on Sherlock and wanted a payoff. It wasn’t exactly an unusual assumption, to think they were a couple, though the blackmail was a new angle. Clearly they were unaware that Sherlock routinely opened all their mail regardless of whose name was on the envelope. The fame of John’s blog sent all kind of loonies their way. They had certainly been sent bribes and threats of all kinds, but this was unique. More than that, it was unexpected, in several ways to be honest. John had only dated women since they’d taken up as flatmates and his mentions of not being gay seemed rather decisive. Still, the man onscreen was undeniably John Watson, and just as undeniably with a man. 

The package had arrived today with a note in a style usually only seen on telly or cinema, the letters cut out of newspapers and magazines, glued haphazardly on heavy paper. The package itself had been nondescript and, aside from whatever fingerprinting and trace analysis could provide, was annoyingly devoid of clues. Even the glue, which Sherlock recognized by smell, was so ubiquitous it could have been purchased anywhere in the UK.

As he watched the grainy footage of what was certainly about to be enthusiastic buggering, Sherlock was overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions more intense and uncomfortable than he was accustomed to feeling. Rage at the blackmailer seemed most prominent. Sherlock could never tolerate someone who preyed on other people’s secrets and misfortunes. There was a twinge of guilt as he watched it. And most curiously, what was almost certainly jealousy. John was his flatmate. His friend. But watching as he finished preparations, rolled on a condom, and began to fuck into the stranger, Sherlock was struck by an unfamiliar desire. He wanted keenly to be that man, to feel what it was like to have John Watson inside him. It hadn’t been a conscious desire until this moment. Not really. He could feel it now, an ache that he never brought to the forefront, desires that he never let quite come into focus before sharpening as he watched this other man getting what he wanted deep down for himself.

As the video went on, a pit settled into his stomach. Hollow, gutted. Rather as he imagined he would feel if he _was_ actually watching an unfaithful spouse. 

_Fascinating._

Of course he was missing the sense memory, of knowing what it was like to touch and be touched like this. Because he and John weren’t - they hadn’t ever - likely wouldn’t. He couldn’t quite form the whole sentence, but the thoughts tasted bitter nonetheless.

There was a tightness in his chest chased with a tingling cold, as if he’d been doused with frigid water. Guilt again. John was private. He bristled at even small invasions, like Sherlock borrowing his laptop. He’d be embarrassed to be seen like this by anyone but his lovers. 

And quite possibly hurt that Sherlock continued to watch the whole thing.

It wouldn’t matter that Sherlock needed to know if there were any further clues about the blackmailer on it. 

Even trying to tell himself that, Sherlock felt like a fraud. It was true that he was sure to find any clues there were and use them to the best of his abilities, which were considerable, but he couldn’t claim that was the only reason. It would be disingenuous to ignore that he had started growing hard the moment he saw John in that state on screen and he had been riveted to what he saw, unable to shut it off until John finished. Sherlock had the self control to avoid actually touching himself, but was certain the images would make recurring appearances in his fantasies for the rest of his life.

Sherlock ejected the disc, walked to the micro, setting it for 30 seconds. Watching it spark and crack filled him with harsh satisfaction. No one should ever see John like this without his permission again.

_Concern for his friend or jealousy again? Examine later._

Sherlock bagged the letter and the DVD box for further investigation and stripped off the nitrile gloves. With any luck there’d be some forensic evidence to help track the idiot down, but John would be home soon. It would be better if he didn’t find out about the whole thing.

Sherlock put everything away and tried to settle his nerves. He picked up his violin and began to play, inventing as he went, a tune which managed to use his manic energy and somehow still sound melancholy.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, Sherlock was going over the tedious notes on his latest case with Greg when he spied it. The same blank case open slightly so the silver disk was visible as well as the edge of a torn magazine print letter peeking from the sheet beneath it. 

Sherlock made a grab for it. “I destroyed that. How did you get--” Sherlock paused mid-motion, his eyes widening comically as the dots connected. “Oh,” he breathed and sat heavily in the office chair beside Greg’s desk. “Since when?”

Greg cleared his throat. “You’ve seen the… of course you have. Christ, does John know?”

“No. I destroyed it before he got home. The blackmailer thought John would respond to the threat of my finding out. As I open all our mail, sending the threat to Baker Street rather than his surgery was a capital mistake. Even if we had that sort of relationship, there’d be no use in John paying when he’d already been exposed. As there was no harm done, he shouldn’t have to even know. I’d like to catch them, though. Nothing worse than a leech who preys on other’s secrets.” 

“Well, I’m not exactly identifiable am I. Think they were counting on panic to do their work for them. More worried about John, since he is pretty clearly on screen, but I’m not sure what damage it could really do. He doesn’t have a relationship to break up and it isn’t as if many care who their doctor is shagging, right? As for me,” Greg sighed. “You’d think people would have the sense not to take an illegal video then try to blackmail a cop, eh?”

Sherlock made a dismissive noise. He was no longer surprised by the idiocy of the general populace. “Do you think I hadn’t noticed you’re evading my question.”

“How long? The blackmail just yesterday, but you mean...” Greg rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Since right around that Christmas drinks thing. You drove off his date and told me Shelly was cheating again. We commiserated at the pub later that week and-” He lowered his already hushed voice, “We ended up having it off in the loo. Christ, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. ‘Course you’re _you_. I can’t believe you didn’t already know.”

Sherlock tried to ignore the jealousy, which now ran both directions if he was being honest. He’d always found Greg attractive, but pushed it aside. Though he’d deduced early on that Greg was bisexual, he had also been married and more than that, a lover’s spat would be terrible for the work regardless. He took a deep breath. “I’m sure I would have seen it if I was trying to deduce your love life. Generally when we’re together my powers of deduction are needed to solve _your_ crime scenes.”

Greg laughed. “We’ll just pretend you weren’t trying to deduce John’s, shall we? Or that you deducing our love lives isn’t what brought us together.” 

Sherlock scowled and wished he could contradict that and Greg just laughed harder. 

“Well how about you turn your famed powers of deduction to helping me find this guy?” 

 

***  
The next afternoon while John was at the surgery, Sherlock found himself examining tread marks on a rooftop. There were several sets, but most were clearly left by workmen going to the heating system. Only one set went to the edge. The dust was disturbed on the ledge too, where he had set up the cameras and waited. Sherlock had a reasonable view of Greg’s kitchen from here. He hadn’t been in Greg’s flat, but he knew he lived in the building across from this rooftop and that particular table was indelibly etched in Sherlock’s mind. 

Lestrade’s mobile chimed. “They’ve sent over related blackmail files. There have been a few celebrity blackmail attempts in the last year. All similar with the glued text notes.”

Sherlock’s mobile chimed as well. 

**Headed home. Chinese ok? -JW**

**Helping Lestrade on a case. Might be a bit  
longer. Get the dumplings. -SH**

**Should I come? -JW**

_I’d like to help with that._

Sherlock shook his head. This was intolerable. Terrible sex puns weren’t exactly like him. This unofficial case, and the way he felt about these men, was getting to him. It was easier when he had pushed desire into faraway corner of his mind palace. But at least he’d only thought it, not embarrassed himself by speaking it aloud.

“You all right there?” Greg asked.

“Fine. Just reviewing the evidence,” Sherlock said brusquely, texting John.

**No need. On my way shortly. -SH**

Greg’s mobile chimed again. Sherlock glanced over and immediately wished he hadn’t.

**Hope he’s not being too difficult. If you have time later we could meet up?” -JW**

Greg met Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock could feel that his face hadn’t slipped into his carefully cultivated indifference fast enough. 

Greg’s voice was soft. “You know it’s just sex, right?”

Sherlock scoffed. “If it was just sex you wouldn’t be worried about people finding out.” 

“Okay, it isn’t _just_ sex, but Sherlock you’re his best friend. Basically his partner. He shares everything else with you. You don’t feel things like that, so he needs to blow off steam a bit now and then. We both do. It’s not a big deal. Honestly I think we just didn’t want you mocking us for needing this.”

“Who says I don’t feel things like that?” was out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could stop it. Of course he knew who said it. He’d gone out of his way to let people think that. _Bloody hell. Might as well stamp my feet too. Really add to the dramatic effect._

“Oh.” Greg eyes widened as the realization dawned. “You aren’t just worried about the blackmailer and pissed off with us for not telling you. You want…”

“It isn’t about what I want. You’re grown men who have clearly made your choice.”

“What are you saying, Sherlock? Some of us lesser mortals need things spelled out.”

“I’m saying you chose to be with one another. Not with me. Which is fine by the way.”

“It’s clearly not, but I’m not sure why. You haven’t shown the slightest interest in anyone the entire time I’ve known you.”

“I didn’t want some kind of romantic entanglement or carnal misunderstanding to interfere with the work. I finally have something _useful_ to occupy my mind. Just because I can set aside how attractive you both are to get work done doesn’t mean I don’t feel things.”

Greg reached out and cupped Sherlock’s face. Their eyes met and Greg glanced down at Sherlock’s lips and back up. “Oh, Sherlock. I never knew.”


	3. Chapter 3

“New Scotland Yard. How can I help you?”

“Hey Nancy, this is John Watson. Can you tell me where Greg and Sherlock might be?”

“It’s DI Lestrade’s day off. Not sure where he is. Have you tried his line?”

“He’s not out on a case?”

“Not today. Try his place. Sorry. Anything else I can help with?”

“No, thank you.” John sighed and hung up the phone. What the hell were Sherlock and Greg up to then? And why weren’t either of them answering their mobiles anymore? 

_Sherlock never said he was with Lestrade, did he? “On a case” could have been for Gregson or Dimmock. Hell, it could even be for Mycroft. He was getting bored and might have lowered his standards._

John wanted to convince himself he thought of Greg first, because Sherlock preferred to work with him, but honestly he’d been thinking of Greg an awful lot lately. _Maybe this thing between them was getting out of hand. Still… Better check on Greg, just in case. After all, it wasn’t like him not to answer his mobile, especially if he wasn’t on a case. Besides, his apartment was on the way to the restaurant._

He tried to convince himself this was perfectly logical and he that didn’t just want to snog the hell out of Greg (or more) before going home to Sherlock.

When he arrived, the doorman wouldn’t let him up, there was no answer when he buzzed Greg’s flat. For some reason his phone lost service this close to the building even though it worked just fine inside Greg’s flat. He had just stepped back onto the pavement, looking to see whether he had a message or at least could send one, when everything tipped sideways in a world of pain.

***  
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Sherlock could have pulled away, but instead leaned into the touch and their lips met. He stood for a moment shocked. He felt like he was in freefall, all deductions fragmenting and blowing away like dust. There was more data than he could absorb at once. Softness and heat and... Coming back to the moment, Sherlock moved, wrapping his arms around Greg and deepening the kiss. 

Greg cupped Sherlock’s head, burying his fingers in the curls at his nape. 

Sherlock had never been kissed like this. He would of gladly have stayed there for ages, exploring a new world of hunger and passion, but they were disrupted by the distinctive sound of a camera shutter. 

They startled apart. On the rooftop of the building next door was a figure obscured by a dark hoodie, snapping pictures of them. 

“Oi,” Greg shouted.

Their suspect stood staring at them for a long moment, then took off. Sherlock was after him in a flash. The buildings were too far apart to jump across, so when their man headed down his building’s fire escape, Sherlock dashed down theirs with Greg following just a beat behind.

When he reached the bottom, three things happened simultaneously: Sherlock broke into a full sprint and launched himself at their would-be blackmailer, he registered too late that John Watson was standing on the pavement just in front of them looking down at his mobile, and he heard Greg give a sharp cry from behind them all. There was a sickening crunch which might have been John’s arm, the camera lens, or one the suspect’s left ribs. 

After that there was a lot of shouting, a call to 999. John essentially had to sit on the suspect until he could be properly restrained.

The doorman looked out at the commotion on his pavement. “What’s going on there?”

Greg limped over to them, “Police business, George.”

“Oh, afternoon Detective Inspector Lestrade. A fellow was just here looking for you. Oh, there he is. And is that Mr. Florsheim?” He didn’t sound all that shocked, Greg noted. Merely curious. Perhaps he’d have information for them later.

“Thank you George. Unless I tell you otherwise, either John or Sherlock should be let up to mine anytime, however, particularly right now. Care to give us a hand? Anyone headed into the building would need to crawl over us anyway.”

George helped them with restraining Mr. Florsheim. Sherlock went through his pockets, finding his identification, which provided his apartment number, just a floor below Lestrade. 

“Lestrade, is there anything in your apartment we could use to restrain Mr. Florsheim until the on duty proper authorities arrive?”

John’s cheeks colored as he and Greg spoke at the same time, simultaneously directing Sherlock where to find the handcuffs in Greg’s flat, which was a bit more telling than any of them wished, especially since they weren’t with his uniform or badge.

When Sherlock returned, Edward Florsheim allowed himself to be cuffed without a fight. 

Sherlock turned his attention to the fallen camera. The lens had shattered but the body of the camera seemed intact. “Do you have your own dark room, Mr. Florsheim?”

Edward looked up then nodded. “Closet of the second bedroom.” 

“Thank you.” Turning to John and Greg, Sherlock added, “I want to go examine whatever evidence of his blackmailing career I can find before the yard tramples it all.”

“You’ve my permission.” Greg added, “in case anyone asks later.”

***  
Upstairs, Sherlock let himself in with ease and drew breath at what he saw. There were magazines shredded where letters had been removed, a partially finished letter, but most notably numerous sections of pictures filling the wall space, with accompanying sticky notes designating who had received letters, who had paid, and whose photos had been released to tabloids or lovers. Sherlock snapped a few pictures of the scene on the phone and texted Lestrade.

**-We’ve got him. A treasure trove of damning evidence. -SH**

Sherlock donned gloves and made short work the section of Greg and John, slipping the stills from the blackmail video and a Polaroid he hadn’t seen before of the two men kissing, into his coat. 

He found the darkroom and emptied the camera of film which he slipped into a protective case. No sense letting that kiss he had with Lestrade get mixed up with evidence either. 

It appeared Edward’s actual job was as a questionable journalist for a rag that didn’t even equal the quality of the Daily Mail. The darkroom was papered with his published work and a number of the prints hanging to dry looked to be similar items; celebrities not looking their best, politicians cheating on their spouses. He must have found his new line more lucrative, judging by the new camera lenses Sherlock had seen in the open shipping box by the front door and the expensive telescope at the window. 

***  
Greg put a hand on the building and kept his weight off his ankle as John got to his feet and helped wrangle their suspect, despite the obvious pain in his arm. 

“Sorry I can’t be more help,” said Greg, watching them, “but glad George here can.”

“Just rest. I’ll be there when this is dealt with, love.”

Mr. Florsheim muttered something unintelligible at that and John shushed him.

By the time their suspect was secured Sherlock had returned. He glared at the man and leaned in to question him. John stepped over to take a look at Greg’s ankle. It was already bruised and swollen. 

Greg wondered how far he’d dropped. Must have been about the fourth rung from the bottom when he’d slipped and come crashing down on the pavement. Getting too old to chase Sherlock Holmes down fire escapes.

John’s fingers were gentle as he palpated the area. “Good thing it was my right arm he banged up.” 

Greg’s chuckle broke off in a hiss as something John had done sent pain shooting up his leg. 

“Sorry.” John leaned over, his voice in Greg’s ear. “Promise to kiss it better later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“Counting on it. Now, if you can get in a position that ankle is above your heart it might help whether it is broken or badly sprained. Can you put any weight on it?”

“Yeah, it just hurts like hell.”

“Could still be a fracture. Not a break clean through at least.” 

Greg hummed absently and watched as Sherlock strode off with the camera. Despite the thrill of the chase and the agony of his ankle, he was having a hard time formulating rational thought beyond _He kissed me? Sherlock Holmes kissed me._ Like the doddering old king in The Princess Bride. 

_Christ, his ankle hurt like hell._


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock took a step back from their captive. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Florsheim. I’m sure there is quite enough there to make you reconsider your career path once our friends at the station are finished with you.” 

Edward glared up at him and his lips twisted in a smile. “So you found out and decided having your own fling with the silver fox was revenge enough?”

John looked from the suspect to Sherlock to Greg. Then took a deep breath and with a surprisingly steady voice asked, “What’s he on about?”

The question went unanswered, as their backup and the paramedics arrived almost simultaneously. 

Sherlock directed some of the officers to the flat full of blackmail while the paramedics set to work examining the injured men.

Edward was nothing more than a little bruised, and was deemed perfectly sound for the journey to the station. 

They assessed that John’s arm was rather badly bruised, though not broken, which was more than could be reasonably determined for Lestrade. They hauled him off to A&E for X-ray, since as John had noted, a small fracture and a bad sprain were hard to tell apart externally. 

John and Sherlock followed, awaiting news together. It was hardly the worst thing they’d been to hospital for, but emotions were high, adding to the anxiety. The short cab ride was tense with unanswered questions.

Greg was still being seen when they arrived and not being next of kin, the nurses couldn’t release any information. John paced the waiting room, his hand clenching and releasing.

John broke the silence. “What did he mean?” 

“Mean by what?” Sherlock hedged, though he wasn’t quite sure why he bothered. John needed to know eventually. 

“Don’t pull that. The revenge business he mentioned with the “silver fox”?”

Sherlock shook his head, with a mirthless chuckle. “Of course _I_ didn’t even get to tell you. That meddler.” Sherlock sighed, rather dramatically he realised, but the whole day had been trying. “We kissed, John. That was all. Our blackmailer snapped a photo before it could be anything else, not that it was likely to progress further on a rooftop.”

“Progress further? You’re not interested in sex.” 

“Generally speaking? No, but I am interested in Greg. Well, both of you actually.”

“Both?” John’s face did a complex maneuver where half his face managed to look annoyed and the other half merely perplexed. “Why the hell didn’t you ever mention it?”

“Distracting to the work, apparently,” Greg broke in, hobbling towards them on crutches.

“Greg?”

Greg’s voice was hushed as he came close, so only they could hear. “Just came up today, love. We didn’t have time to discuss anything further. You and I have never been exclusive, but I thought this might need particular care.”

“I’m sorry?”

Greg laughed. “To spell it out precisely, I think what Sherlock would like to know is, John, would you be amenable to a shag with your lover and your flatmate either sequentially or simultaneously. Possibly also a long term relationship filled with rainbows and puppies or something. But first a shag.”

Sherlock glared, but couldn’t hold it, collapsing into a nearby chair and shaking with soundless laughter. When he calmed down he croaked, “Not how I’d have phrased it, but basically, yes.”

“You’re serious? Not having me on? Because it looks like you’re having me on.”

“Serious. Just nerves, I think” Sherlock wheezed, still struggling not to dissolve into laughter. “Though your face was priceless.”

“I’m more than amenable as long as this conversation continues somewhere else,” John hissed. “I might work with some of these people, you know.”

“You work with us and that isn’t about to stop you from-” Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

“Not one more word until we are at least in a cab.”

“Alright, you two. I’m free to go, so let’s get out of here.”

Somehow they managed to get all three of them and Greg’s crutches in the back of a cab without further insult or injury.

Greg’s flat had fewer stairs to navigate as well as a lift, so they directed their driver there rather than towards Baker Street.

“I should mention I haven’t been with anyone since uni, and I’m told they did a full work up at Mycroft’s orders when I was admitted to rehab. He didn’t trust me to know, or to tell him, what I had gotten up to whilst high.” Best get such things out of the way before they were actually in Greg’s bedroom. 

“Good to know.” John chuckled. “Greg and I have only been with each other since our last test, I think, despite his claim that we weren’t exclusive.”

“Well, we dated a bit, but yeah, haven’t shagged anyone else. We were both tested after that first time,” Greg agreed.

“You mean the bathroom handjobs?” asked Sherlock.

“Oi.” John exclaimed, though clearly more startled by the bluntness than offended.

“Sorry, love, he asked.” Greg said, stroking a soothing hand down John’s thigh. Sherlock glanced out the window, thinking he hadn’t exactly asked _that_ , but was for once politic enough not to mention it.

“And you told him.” John said, elbowing Greg playfully.

“Oh, he’d have figured it out. Anyway, I’m not ashamed of it. It brought us here didn’t it?”

John shrugged, “Fair point. Anything else we should know? Preferences? Things you’d like?”

“I guarantee that I’m game for anything you’d be interested in doing.”

Greg’s eyes twinkled and he looked for a moment like he might take that as a challenge, but settled on asking, “Why don’t you start by kissing John. It’s not fair that only I’ve gotten to taste those lips.”

John’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John gently, realizing he had wanted this since that first night, but never been willing to acknowledge it. John deepened the kiss, bringing his hand up to stroke Sherlock’s cheek and smooth through his curls, tender even in the awkward confines of the cab. 

“God, I can’t wait to touch you.” murmured John.

Sherlock gestured to Greg’s building ahead. “Not much waiting now.”

Sherlock paid their fare as John helped Greg out and up the stairs to the entryway. 

“Broken, eh?” George asked as they passed by.

“Should heal up pretty quick if he stays off of it. Thanks for the help earlier,” John said.

“Not a problem Mr. Watson. Most exciting day we’ve had ‘round here in awhile I can tell you, and if you don’t mind my saying so, I won’t miss having Mr. Florsheim around. Never did care for him myself.” 

“Have a good night, George!” Greg said, heading towards the lift.

 

As soon as the doors closed John was on Sherlock, pressing him up against the wall. 

Greg moaned. “Christ, you’re hot together.”

John smirked and held Sherlock in place as he leaned over to snog Greg just as thoroughly.

They were still kissing when the lift stopped and opened and they reluctantly broke apart. An old woman stared at them from the hall.

“Sorry. Good evening Mrs. Pershing,” Greg mumbled as he limped past her. 

John colored and ducked his head, but Sherlock straightened his coat and swept past without looking back. 

“Evening,” she said shortly, eyes narrowed, and scurried into the lift, jamming the button as Greg hobbled to his door.

Sherlock fished Greg’s keys out of his pocket and let them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> It's pretty much porn from here on out, FYI.
> 
> ***


	5. Chapter 5

“Afraid my hospitality’s a little lacking at the moment, but make yourself at home,” Greg said, setting his crutches aside and settling on his couch. 

John stepped closer. “You know, you really ought to elevate that.”

“I believe you promised to kiss it better as well.”

“Oh I’ll kiss something better, I promise.”

“In that case, I’d better get out of these ruined pants then.” 

“We can help with that,” Sherlock said jingling Greg’s keys. He flipped open Greg’s pocket knife, pausing long enough for someone to protest before kneeling and getting to work. 

No one objected, though Greg smirked as he watched him. “Pretty sure knife play isn’t a first date activity, Sherlock.” 

“Good thing this isn’t a date, then.”

The sound of the denim tearing away combined with the fact Greg knew the words “knife play” did things to Sherlock, things he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine yet. He wondered if he’d feel the same if it were his clothing being torn away. Something to think about later. Right now Greg’s jeans were nearly off and there were much more pressing concerns. Like Greg’s pants stretched taut over his hardening cock. He ran his fingers over Greg’s bare thigh, sweeping upwards. The sight made Sherlock’s mouth water. 

John helped pull the rest of his jeans off Greg’s good leg and bent down kissing his ankle gently. Sherlock closed the blade and set the keys aside.

John and Sherlock glanced at one another and at Greg before leaning forward, mouthing Greg’s cock through his pants, stopping occasionally to kiss each other. Like so much else with John Watson, they barely needed to speak to work in harmony. 

Greg moaned, stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “Fuck. That feels amazing. Need more, though. Please?”

John pulled Greg free from his pants and Sherlock leaned down to swallow his cock.

“Yes. God, your mouth. Yes, like that.”

John shifted around, starting to undress Sherlock, unbuttoning shirt and trousers, tracing his fingers over every new inch of exposed skin. 

Sherlock shivered, moaning louder around Greg’s cock as John began kneading his arse. Sherlock spread his thighs, inviting John in. 

Greg’s grip tightened in his hair for a moment, guiding him off.

“You’re amazing, but I think we need a bit more space, yeah? Think you can get me to the bedroom? Besides, John is still wearing entirely too much.”

Sherlock pulled off his vest and helped Greg with his. He and John took turns helping Greg to his bedroom, a longer process than strictly necessary, not so much because of the ankle but because they couldn’t stop touching. Greg braced against Sherlock to steal kisses from John, dipping his hands into John’s pants, or leaning against the wall and pulling Sherlock to him to snog him senseless. The sight and sounds were almost as good as being touched. Sherlock’s skin tingled when their hands drifted away. He needed more.

Greg settled on the bed, spreading his legs as he tossed a bottle of slick to Sherlock. “Now, where were we?”

Sherlock lay down between Greg’s thighs, careful not to jostle his ankle. He slicked his fingers and tossed the bottle to John before licking the crown of Greg’s cock, savoring the feel of him on his tongue. He lapped at the slit, and felt his own cock pulse at the first earthy salt-bitter taste of precome. He moaned and took Greg deep again as he felt John begin to open him. His fingers stroked Greg’s perineum before pressing lightly against his hole. 

Greg groaned and pushed back against him. Sherlock’s fingers sank in as he sucked Greg’s cock, his fingers working him open, echoing John’s movements. 

John whispered, “You are so gorgeous like this,” leaning over to kiss Sherlock’s hip. He reach around to stroke Sherlock’s cock as he crooked his fingers inside, the sensation sending sparks skittering up Sherlock’s spine. 

Sherlock pulled off of Greg, crying out John’s name, panting against Greg’s thigh.

“That what you need, love?”

“More. I need more, John,” Sherlock said, shifting his hips to impale himself further on John’s fingers. “It’s not enough. Please, John... Fuck me.” 

“Will you fuck me, Sherlock? ” Greg asked, breathless with need. 

“God, you should have felt him throbbing in my hand.” John said with a filthy chuckle. “He likes the sound of that, don’t you, Sherlock. Want to be right in the middle of us, don’t you?” 

Greg scooted back on the bed, guiding Sherlock over him with a kiss. Sherlock pressed into Greg and stilled, already nearly overwhelmed. John pressed into Sherlock, the slight stretch and burn offering the perfect counterpoint to the tight heat of Greg around him. 

Nothing had ever felt so good as the heat and crush of their bodies, hot and wet and utterly decadent. Sherlock trembled, suspended between his lovers, letting the force of John’s thrusts drive him into Greg, as though John was fucking both of them at once. Sherlock wanted it to go on forever, caught between these two men he never thought he could have. He was beyond words, barely hearing the murmur of John behind him, only catching a phrase here and there, _beautiful, so good for us, ours _. The world contracted to a pinpoint of pleasure. Time froze, suspended on the precipice. Sherlock breathed in, feeling John thrust once more and the wave crashed, sending him tumbling, secure in his lovers’ arms.__

__Sherlock was distantly aware of his own cry, startlingly loud even to his own ears. He clung to Greg, overwhelmed, oversensitive, but so safe. Greg’s lips pressed against his, swallowing his soft noises. John stilled behind him, panting into his shoulder and filling him completely._ _

__After a few long minutes, John pulled out, collapsing heavily beside him and stroking damp curls away from his forehead. “Good?”_ _

__“Amazing. Brilliant. And all those other things you say to me at crime scenes.”_ _

__“Don’t tease, you git,” John said, swatting his hip gently._ _

__Sherlock kissed him. “Not teasing. Truly.”_ _

__Greg kissed his shoulder and Sherlock settled in his arms, aware of Greg’s erection still lying insistent between them._ _

__Sherlock turned his head to kiss Greg. “Take me. I’m aching to feel you too.”_ _

__Greg tumbled Sherlock onto his back, pressing his thighs up and wide apart. “I’ve got you. God, Sherlock, you’re still so slick and open from where John had you. Look how gorgeous he is, love,” he said to John._ _


	6. Chapter 6

John looked up to see a trickle of come leaking from Sherlock's well-stretched hole, and felt his blood rush south again. He wasn’t quite hard yet, just heat pooling low in his belly. He gave himself a slow pull, feeling his cock thicken. He was usually a jealous lover, but, Christ, watching them fuck was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and having had them both, it was like he knew everything they were feeling, magnifying the pleasure. 

He moved closer, kissing Greg, then Sherlock. They reached out for him too, and his eyes slipped shut as hands stroked over his chest, his balls, his hot prick. _Christ, it was too good._ He was fully hard now, grateful for any friction.

He alternated between kissing them both while they took their time exploring one another. Greg fucked Sherlock slowly, clearly savoring every touch. 

Sherlock pulled his head back and looked at John with that same calculating look he had when planning something either brilliant or messy. Or both. “John, lay down. Right here. Greg, up for a moment.”

John settled on his back. Sherlock groaned at the loss when Greg pulled out, but his plan became clear as he crawled over John, straddling his hips, pressing their cocks together. Greg followed, sliding back into Sherlock. He held Sherlock’s hips tightly, rocking Sherlock against John with every thrust, so hard and hot and slick. 

“God you’re fucking perfect,” John breathed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and bucking up against him, quickening the pace until he was coming for the second time. Sherlock crushed their lips together and hung on as he and Greg followed him over. 

They lay tangled together, heartbeats and breathing slowly returning to normal. 

“It’s late.” John said, breaking the silence. 

“You always end up going home.” Greg sounded unwontedly plaintive and winced. He cleared his throat, voice stronger as he asked, “Stay tonight?”

“Of course we’ll stay,” Sherlock mumbled. “You’d have to pry me out of bed at this rate.”

“Because you’re insatiable?” John chuckled. It was great to see Sherlock actually willingly in bed, though he doubted he could wear him out like this every night. He wasn’t twenty anymore. 

“Well, I was going to say because I’m exhausted, but you do have a point. You’ve given me a taste despite both knowing my addictive nature.”

Greg and John exchanged a wicked look. This could be dangerous, but when had that stopped any of them? They’d have to get cleaned up in a few minutes. For now it was enough to simply be.

\---  
Greg woke to a hushed whimper and Sherlock’s panting breath beside him. Sherlock was up on his elbows and knees, arse high with his head pillowed on his hands. John knelt behind him at the foot of the bed, spreading Sherlock’s arse. The soft wet sounds of John’s lips and tongue as he licked Sherlock open went straight to Greg’s cock. “Christ what a way to wake up,” he breathed and gave himself a couple firm strokes before tilting Sherlock’s head so he could kiss him. Sherlock moaned and whimpered into his mouth as he thrust back against John’s tongue. 

Greg pulled back. “May I?” he asked, his hand reaching towards Sherlock’s cock. 

“Yes, touch me,” Sherlock said and John hummed assent, not about to stop what he was doing to form words.

Greg stroked Sherlock, murmuring encouragement in his ear as John pleasured him. “That’s it Sherlock. We’ve got you. Come for us.”

Just a few more strokes and Sherlock came hard and hot over Greg’s hand. These sheets were probably ruined, but in no way could he be arsed to care. Hell, he practically wanted to frame them in memory of the best sex he’d ever had.

“You too sensitive now?” John asked, leaning back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sherlock shook his head and John braced himself over him. “You sure?” 

Sherlock nodded. “I’m sure. Take me, please, John. I want you.”

John needed no further encouragement, lining up and pressing forward, sliding deep in one slow, smooth movement. He paused when he was fully seated, stroking his hands down Sherlock’s back. 

Greg held Sherlock, kissing him deeply. Sherlock shivered and moaned, rocking against him as John filled him up. Greg broke their kiss to cradle Sherlock’s head against his chest and met John’s gaze. 

John licked his lips and thrust forward, smiling as Sherlock groaned. 

“That’s it, John has just what you need, doesn’t he?” Greg murmured, still starting into John’s eyes.

“Yesyesyes,” Sherlock hissed as John picked up the pace. 

“John’s good for you,” said Greg. “Always has been.”

“I need you too,” Sherlock whispered, his tongue darting out to tease first one nipple then the other. 

It was a new sensation, but with a lap full of his lovers fucking and his mind still reeling from their exploits the night before, it felt amazing. Everything felt amazing. 

Sherlock’s hand slipped down to stroke Greg’s cock.

John’s thrusts became more erratic, chasing his own orgasm

Greg opened his eyes in time to watch John still, his head thrown back and his face contorted in pleasure. 

“Jesus,” Greg breathed, more awe than curse.

John pulled out and crawled to the other side of Greg, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s. They worked Greg’s cock together. John kissed his cheek. “Go on, love. You can come too. I want to see you.” 

Sherlock raised his head, a tenderness in his eyes Greg had never seen before. “Yes, come for us.” 

Everything tensed. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed him deeply. Greg cried out, shaking with the force of his pleasure.

“That’s it, love. God, I love watching you fall apart.” John kissed him as Sherlock pulled back, stroking him gently through the aftershocks. 

Finally, John settled onto the bed on one side of him and Sherlock spooned behind him on the other, kissing his neck. 

“Thanks for that. Best wake up ever.” Greg said. 

Silently, Greg blessed Ed Florsheim. As crazy as that little weasel was, he was responsible for the best thing to ever happen to Greg. Maybe the best thing to happen to all of them.

He should be a good host. Make a fry up or something. 

If they ever made it out of bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Blessed are those who leave comments and kudos for they shall be blessed with more porn.


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